


Merriment

by ottermo



Series: Fandot Creativity [4]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, MJN's March Merriment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:10:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 8,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6308194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is where I'm dumping the bits I've written for MJN's March Merriment on tumblr. In the interests of tidiness, y'know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arthur in Philosophical Mood

Every time he makes scrambled eggs, Arthur thinks of a conversation, years ago, which started with, “Dad, what d’you suppose came first? The chicken or the egg?” and ended with a broken plate, an earful of shouting and nothing left to have for breakfast except some rather soggy toast. 

Things with Dad often got like that, and Arthur was never sure why. Of course, he _ought_ to have been watching what he was doing, and he ought not to have started talking about _idiotic things_ instead of concentrating, but Arthur had never been much of a concentrater, anyway, and if it hadn’t been the chicken and the egg it would have been something else. Even so, the words ring in his ears, every time, _if you didn’t fill your head with this kind of nonsense you might be able to do something right for once,_ and they don’t go away until the last mouthful. 

This is not enough to make Arthur avoid scrambled eggs, because scrambled eggs are _brilliant_ , and as his mother says, there really aren’t enough things he knows how to make for him to start trimming down the list. That’s why, years later, in a different house and a different kitchen, he is making scrambled eggs and thinking about how his father’s voice sounds so scratchy when he’s angry, when Herc walks in, and they have a conversation that starts with, “Arthur, what d’you suppose came first? The chicken or the egg?” and ends with smiles and crumbs and them both agreeing that dinosaurs were laying eggs long before chickens were even invented. 

Or if it doesn’t end there, it ends when Mum comes in and orders them to clean up the mess - or if it doesn’t end there, it ends when Herc puts away the dustpan and brush and suggests taking Snoop for a walk - or perhaps it doesn’t end at all. Perhaps it goes on and on and on. 


	2. Rhyming Journeys

The crew were on their way to Kent,   
And on the way they stopped in Brent,  
And had some tea in Stoke on Trent,   
To three or four more towns they went -  
(Two more, in fact, than what was meant  
For Arth, though not a bad young gent  
Is not so good at maps, and sent  
Them on their way to far off Llent   
A fact which put a quite large dent  
In funds which had to then be spent  
On fuel to get them back to Kent.) 


	3. Mystery Passenger

_John Smith._ The poor bloke, Douglas thinks, has probably got some kind of inferiority complex by now. Probably everyone he meets already knows at least one other John Smith before he introduces himself. Douglas hasn’t looked at the booking reference to see the passenger contact information, but he bets it’s _hell_ trying to find an email address that isn’t taken when your name is one of the most common English names of all time. 

He hasn’t listed a company to charge his expenses to, and the box marked ‘any special requirements’ has been left blank. According to Carolyn, there’d been no telephone contact either, so apart from having the most nondescript name on the planet, this particular John Smith was a complete and utter mystery.

There ought to be a flight-deck game Douglas can make out of this, but so much of the fun has been taken out of those, nowadays. Herc is irritatingly competent at almost all of them, and unlike Martin, he never loses count of the score. In the end, Douglas opts for an ‘Unbelievable Truth’-style game, where players take it in turns to invent trios of whacky escapades which purportedly happened to bearers of the John Smith moniker, and hide among them a fourth, genuine tale, about a real John Smith they either know or have read about. It ends up being rather fun. Arthur emerges as the winner, to everyone’s surprise - but then, Douglas considers, whoever said truth was stranger than fiction had never met Arthur Shappey’s imagination.

By the time they land, Douglas has stopped wondering about their John Smith in particular - his head is too full of tales of swashbuckling, one-legged John Smiths smuggling summer dresses, and circus-dwelling John Smiths who train monkeys in exchange for car parts. They make their way to the passenger lounge to meet their client, still laughing at Arthur’s most preposterous invention, and as they approach the door, Douglas says, “If it’s that one we’re flying, we’ll have to know before we take off. Will you ask him, or shall I?”

And inside the room, someone stands up from his chair and asks, “Ask me what?”

It’s met with gaping mouths and disbelief, and then Arthur is rushing forward in bear-hug attack mode, nearly knocking _John Smith_ to the ground. 

Douglas watches, waits his turn. When Arthur lets his victim go, the shorter man looks up at Douglas quizzically and asks, “Did you know all along?”

And Douglas scoffs and says, “Please. ‘John Smith’? It’s like you didn’t even try.”

But then he shakes his head and says, “I had no idea. It’s good to see you.”

Martin smiles.  


	4. People Who Should Be Arch Enemies

Grimy. The man flies a plane whose call sign spells out _grimy_ , and this wouldn’t be a bad thing but he doesn’t even call it ‘Grimy’ or ‘Grimes’ or even ‘The Grime-atron’, he calls it _the plane_. 

Douglas thinks he’s joking, at first, but Rick just gives him a blank look and says, ‘Are you getting in, then?’, and that more or less sets the tone for the rest of their time together that day. Everything falls flat: Douglas’s jokes, his attempt to introduce the arch enemies game, his mood, his general outlook on _life_ , for pete’s sake, because how can one person be so mindnumbingly _uninspiring_? 

John Thaw and Jon Snow. Douglas had always liked Inspector Morse, he was good old-fashioned _clever,_ none of this superhuman memory or ‘once I knew a lady in St Mary Mead’. He’d had to give up on the reruns while he was coming off the drink, but going back to them was one small pleasure he’d afforded himself after clearing the first year - he could watch Morse down a pint every now and then without it triggering a relapse, and if he was ever tempted, well, he could watch _The Remorseful Day_ and ponder on that old chestnut long and hard. 

In his younger days, reading Colin Dexter, Douglas had pictured Rory as Morse and himself as Lewis, gradually building up his confidence and competence to the point where _he_ was Morse, with Roger, then Max, then Fraser and who knows how many others in between, playing the second-fiddle role of the detective sergeant running at Morse’s heel. Then, of course, there was Martin, who was, by the written hierarchy, Inspector Morse, but was, in fact, the most Lewissy Lewis of all. 

It’s all about the partnership. That’s why all good detective stories - all good stories of any type, really - are based around two people, whether they be colleagues, or friends, or - sometimes - arch enemies. 

He and Martin had had a bit of that, too, in their time. 

People Who Should Have Been Arch Enemies: the smooth-talking sky-god fallen from grace, with a chip on his shoulder and a drunken skeleton in the closet, barely juggling a failing marriage with alimony payments and flying visits to the school play, versus the young up-start with a brainful of manuals and rules, everything ordered and structured, bristling with misplaced pride, snapping and stressing and whining and preening in his gold-emblazoned hat, a _captain’_ s hat no less, just to add fuel to the flame of injustice. 

People Who Are Friends, Nonetheless: Douglas Richardson and Martin Crieff. 

Grimy lands, with Rick still none the wiser on the game, and they begin shifting boxes. Douglas goes through the motions, lugs crates until every part of him cries out for Martin’s stupid pilots’ lounge to materialise around him, and when he returns, finally, to the co-pilot’s seat (which isn’t the first officer’s seat because _there is no captain_ , is nothing sacred to this man?) he vows to never, ever, consider this again. 

That night, there is a prequel called _Endeavour_ on the television. For the first time, Douglas does see Martin in Morse - sees himself as well, in the eyes of the timeworn Inspector Thursday, who’s still in the game, not giving up yet, still hot on the trail and still quick off the mark and still part of a pair, still a double act. 

There’s no beating it. There never will be. 


	5. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few things Arthur says over the course of the series that strike me as being things he's learnt off by heart. The "who's not allowed to do what to what" auto-response, the quickly chirped "I'm always useful!", and, well... this one.

She settles on the wording when he is still quite young, once it has become clear that his will be a life full of clumsiness and mishap. She repeats it like a mantra, her tone a mix of stern and comforting, after every broken valuable, each missed appointment, every misunderstanding. _It was a mistake. Mistakes happen to all of us. It’s just one of those things._

It’s mainly for Arthur’s benefit, but Carolyn finds it useful too: when they are locked out of the house in the middle of a freezing cold night, because Arthur has forgotten his own keys and lost hers, and their flight was late and Gordon is fast asleep and can’t hear them knocking, she pulls her jacket more tightly around herself and says, along with him, it was a mistake… mistakes happen to all of us… Gritted teeth, and shivering. Calmer, though. _It’s just one of those things._

The words ‘it wasn’t your fault’ are not included, because sometimes it _is_ his fault, but that doesn’t mean it was intended. Mistakes are still mistakes. Certainly, Arthur had not _meant_ to ruin his costume for the school play five minutes before she was due to drive him over to perform, but it had still been his hand on the iron - still, it was a mistake. Mistakes happen to all of us.

 _It’s just one of those things,_ she hears his little voice muttering to himself as he arrives home from school one day, and she raises her eyebrows, waiting for him to explain. He is uncharacteristically quiet about it - eventually, she extracts the story, and her blood boils over. She is on the phone to the school quick-sharp, because she’s damned if the other child is going to get away with pinning the blame on Arthur, the _victim_ of this 'accident'…  Some things are not mistakes, she tells him, trying to mix gentleness in with the anger that isn’t for him, but still shows in her voice. Sometimes his only mistake is he trusts too much.

“It was a mistake,” he tells her, desperately, holding Rex’s collar up for her to see, “I thought it was too tight. I thought it was hurting him, so I–”

She cannot listen to him cry, has never been able to, so she takes him by the arm, business-like, tells him they are going to search until they find the blasted animal. (They do not. Her heart breaks for him. Rex was an awful creature but for some reason the boy loved him. He is still sniffling, and Carolyn wildly promises that if they ever get another dog, he can – he can _name_ it.)

Years later, having to yell out _Snoopadoop_ at the top of her lungs, with Herc barely containing his mirth, she realises that this, too, was a mistake.

“Mistakes happen to all of us,” he reminds her, hopefully, as she watches the insurance man pace around the kitchen, assessing the damage caused by a tap, left on for the entire week they were in San Francisco. Carolyn nods, and surveys the lumps in the wallpaper. If only she had gone for tiles all over. _Just one of those things._

She has to smile when she overhears him tell it to Martin for the first time. She has no idea what her recently-acquired captain is whinging about, but hears her son say, “Cheer up, Skip. It was just a mistake. Mistakes happen to all of us.” A pause, then, reverently, “Even Douglas, probably.”

“I don’t think so,” Martin says, bitterly.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now,” Arthur points out. “It’s–”

“…just one of those things,” Carolyn finishes, entering the room. “Now, shake a leg, Captain Miseryguts, we’ve got a job to do.”

Martin huffs, but she can tell he’s glad to get his mind off whatever it was that was bothering him. _You see,_ she mentally congratulates herself, _it works._

Arthur breaks five priceless family heirlooms before he has reached his teenage years; he is responsible for the loss of her camera, a pearl necklace, her cashmere scarf, and, she fears at times, her sanity - he is incurably accident-prone, and is the one person in the world for whom the saying about forgetting your head if it wasn’t screwed on is _literally_ true. But through it all, he remains irrepressibly positive, honest-hearted and kind. Most people think he is a throwback. Carolyn privately regards him as a miracle. A loud, lopsided, lolloping miracle who gives her a near-permanent headache. 

One night, their first in their new home, just the two of them, he leans against her shoulder and asks, “Was it true, Mum? What Dad said last night?”

And she bites her lip and wishes she knew which part of their blazing row he is referring to, wishes he hadn’t overheard any of it, wishes for so much for him that she’ll never be able to give him. “When? What did he say?" 

"About me. About – neither of you wanting children when you first got married. Was I just–”

“ _No_ ,” she says, immediately. It sounds too much like snapping, and she softens her tone and repeats, “No. No, Arthur. You were not a mistake.”

 _Mistakes happen to all of us,_ she silently adds. _But you only happened to me._

For the first time in a long while, she feels lucky.


	6. How The Gods Smile Upon Me

He all but skips out of the room. This is appropriate, Carolyn thinks, given what Arthur will be calling him soon enough.

She hums to herself as she collects her papers back in the folder. Had she gone too far?

No, she decides, he didn’t have to say yes, especially not to those final terms. She’d just been…fortunate.

Only yesterday, they’d been on the very brink of bankruptcy. Douglas simply _cannot_ take the longer flights alone, whatever the big idiot would like her to think - it’s not just illegal, it’s unhealthy, and dangerous. He’s been working too hard, stretching to the limit, just so they don’t have to cancel any of the flights she’d booked when Nigel was still with them.

The poor sod. She can afford to be sympathetic now, just a bit. Now that Nigel’s leaving won’t be her undoing, thanks to the gem who sat across from her today and said  _yes, yes, just being the captain, that would be enough_.

Douglas isn’t going to be pleased with his demotion, but at least he’s going to be employed. And Martin seems like the type of person who will be easy to tease, so at least the first officer won’t be bored.

Carolyn sits back in her chair and smiles.

All is not lost, then. Oslo on Wednesday, then Shanghai at the weekend… Clients she had been inches away from phoning and making something up, just so she wouldn’t have to admit that they simply couldn’t do it. That she had _failed_.

That she ought have kept the spare key to the sweet shop, after all.

She texts Douglas. _Have found you a new playmate. There shall be buns for tea._

She’ll wait to tell Arthur in person, she decides, glancing at the clock. He’ll be back from the crazy golf course soon. This is the last day she’ll have to pack him off there to get him out from under her feet, while she tries to work out what to do. All systems are go.

Someone up there has a wicked sense of humour, she thinks, but they’ve come through, at the last minute, as always. 

A pilot without a payslip. _How the gods smile upon me._


	7. Martin Crieff Moment

“And as I am the only one on board who is trained or qualified to fly her, I think you’ll find that I am the _supreme commander_ of th–”

Douglas stops. He can almost hear the screeching of his own proverbial brakes. 

Herc is staring at him, baffled, amused…pitying, almost. “You all right, Commander?” he asks, and while it is a mocking tone, it’s tempered by rather more genuine concern than Douglas is really comfortable with. 

“What have I _become_?” Douglas asks, hoarsely.

Or rather, _who?_ he thinks.

Damn it all. Is Martin’s petty need to cling to his title so intrinsic to the flight deck now that in its absence, Douglas has to mimic it….

….or is he actually pre-emptively _missing_ the man?

Neither option is welcome.

In the days to come, Douglas - when he is unable to avoid thinking about it - mentally refers to this as his _Martin Crieff Moment_.

It is not his proudest. But it is, at least, somewhat enlightening.


	8. Code Red

 

Once - and it was just once, the whole time he was a kid - he’d stayed in the same room through a whole code red, a phrase that should have sent him up the stairs at once, out of the way of his dad’s shouts.

She tried to keep her voice as low as she could, but still the fight was bad. They were not words a boy so young should hear, not from his dad, not at the top of his lungs like this.

When it stopped, she looked at her son, curled up by the door. She felt the rage go out of her, all at once. She sighed, and knelt down next to him.

“Are you all right?”

He gave a small nod, but she could not be sure if it was true.

“Do you see now,” she asked, “Why you should leave, when I say code red?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not a joke, or a game. I don’t just say it for fun.” A pause. “Next time, you’ll know what to do.”

It was the last time he stayed put through a code red.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought it was time I tried something more serious in words of one sound. (How long did it take you to notice...first sentence? First paragraph? Did I fool anyone all the way through? I need to know these stats for science)


	9. Yellow Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be sung to the tune of 'Let it Go' from Frozen. 
> 
> I have no excuse for this.

The cars drive past and they’re going so fast,  
Not a holdup to be seen.  
A really long line of vehicles,  
Going where they haven’t been.

But if you’re bored while you are driving through the town  
You can play this game - soon you’ll have it down…

Keep on the watch, don’t close your eyes  
Never let the traffic pass you by   
Whatever colours, near or far  
See what they are!

Yellow car, yellow car!  
Play alone or with your friends   
Yellow car, yellow car!   
It’s a game that never ends

Starting now  
Every night and day,  
When you see a car  
If it’s yellow you will always know what to say.

It’s funny how there’s some days  
You’ll see just one or two  
Then other times so many   
But you’ll know what to do!

You give a shout, you say those words  
You know they’ve just got to be heard  
So, loud and clear, give out a cheer, it’s here…

Yellow car, yellow car!  
Play at home or in the street   
Yellow car, yellow car!  
Teaching everyone you meet:

Close behind  
Or in front you’ll find   
There’s a yellow caaaaar…

So now you know the rules, you can’t just mess around   
When you see yellow vans or golden cars, don’t make a sound!   
Unless it’s yellow and a car, there is no need   
Just don’t say anything   
Now, are we all agreed?

Yellow car, yellow car!   
Did you see it parked on that drive?  
Yellow car, yellow car!   
Oh, it makes you feel alive!

Play always,  
Through the highs and lows   
Yellow car, yellow car!   
Skip, you’re brilliant, I missed both of those.


	10. Fire Truck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got long and more ridiculous than originally intended. *shifty eyes*

It’s four o’ clock in the morning, a frankly _hideous_ time to be awake at all, let alone to be sitting in Carolyn’s car, subjected to Arthur’s cheerful-but-by-no-means-tuneful rendition of the ‘Good Morning’ song from Singin’ in the Rain. Douglas has nothing against this particular morning, but neither does he feel that it’s earned the title of ‘good’ yet, and Arthur’s singing is definitely not helping its case.

The one saving grace is that, since Carolyn wasn’t keen on paying the extra fare to get a taxi to come out so early, she’s doing the pickup herself, which means that Douglas gets his front passenger seat. He strongly suspects that the only reason Carolyn came to get him first instead of Martin is to avoid them having an argument over the seating again. She’s irritated enough as it is, what with Mr Alyakin’s insistence on such an early departure – Arthur hasn’t given Douglas a storm warning yet, but perhaps he will at the end of his choral session.

They’re approaching the turning to Martin’s road, and Arthur is approaching the end of the lyrics he actually knows and filling in the gaps with a sort of warbled nonsense. Carolyn opens her mouth, ready to beg him to stop before her head explodes all over the dashboard, but before she can, the deafening screech of a fire engine siren cuts Arthur’s singing short for her. The first engine is quickly followed by a second, hurtling past and then directly around the corner Carolyn was heading for herself.

“Wow! Is there going to be a fire?” Arthur exclaims.

“Yes,” Douglas replies, “Of course. Where would we, as a nation, be, if it wasn’t for the trusty fire engine to announce the forthcoming arrival of a fire that hasn’t _started_ yet.” 

“I should think there’s already a fire, Arthur,” Carolyn translates. “Perhaps one of Martin’s neighbours left the oven on overnight,” she adds, pointedly. 

“Oh, like I did once!”

“Yes. This is me cleverly reinforcing the cautionary tale aspect of the conversation we had, the morning after our house miraculously _didn’t_ burn down.” 

Douglas frowns, peering down the road ahead of them. “You know, I don’t think it _is_ one of Martin’s neighbours.” 

“Yeah, that was really lucky!” Arthur continues, oblivious. “But now I know to check, and double check, and triple check and—”

“I think it’s Martin’s _house_ ,” Douglas says, suddenly urgent. 

Carolyn widens her eyes. “What?!”

“That corner one, the one that’s considerably more _orange_ and _glowy_ than the rest,” Douglas says, impatiently, “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Oh, God, it is.” 

“What!” Arthur squawks, “Not Skip’s house! Martin would _never_ leave the oven on!” 

“ _He_ wouldn’t,” Douglas concedes, as Carolyn takes them closer to where the fire engines have parked. “But he lives with a gaggle of students, and if one of them…Carolyn, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to see that he’s _out_ ,” she snaps as she clambers out of the car. “We’re not going to get the car any closer.”

Douglas follows her out, is vaguely aware of Arthur following him. The three of them hurry over to where a group of people in their late teens or early twenties are huddled, pyjama-clad and looking up at the smoking building in horror. There’s no sign of Martin. Carolyn grabs the nearest girl by the arm and demands to know where he is, but the young woman looks traumatised, doesn’t even seem to know what she’s being asked.

Douglas, never much of a runner but capable when needs must, sprints over to where one of the fireman is standing, yelling instructions to a few of his colleagues. He swings around to face Douglas, and has to shout, over all the commotion, “Excuse me, sir, if you could just stand back, it’s not safe for you to—”

“You need to send someone up to the attic!” Douglas shouts back. “Someone lives up there! And he’s not come out with the others!”

“All the occupants have assembled—”  
“No, they _haven’t!_ ” Douglas roars. “He’s in the loft, the actual – in the _roof_! You won’t have found him in the house!” 

His voice is hoarse already, his throat feels full of fumes from being so close, but he can only imagine how much worse it is for Martin, trapped up there - that’s if he’s still conscious enough to notice.

Finally, the fireman he’s been shouting at makes a move, organises someone being sent to scale the outside of the building, heading for the tiny attic window that must be Martin’s only view of the outside world.

Douglas joins Carolyn and Arthur at the slightly safer distance of the driveway’s edge, and they watch with bated breath to see a glimpse of Martin, anything to tell them he’s all right. After what seems like aeons, they see a man being hauled out through the little window and assisted down the ladder.

“It’s Skip!” Arthur shouts, “He’s OK! Mum, he’s OK!” 

“He’s out, at least,” Carolyn agrees. “Thank goodness somebody went up there. Another few minutes—”

To punctuate her words, there is a crash, and a bright flash of light behind the window Martin had appeared from. 

“Another few _seconds_ ,” she corrects herself, her voice low and solemn. 

Arthur stares in awe at the firefighter who’s still escorting Martin down the ladder. “Wow! That man saved Skip’s _life_!” 

“Didn’t he just,” says Douglas quietly. Arthur doesn’t hear, but Carolyn throws him a look. 

She doesn’t tell Martin. She never asks Douglas if he does.


	11. Douglas Richardson Moment

Martin wonders, sometimes, how long it will take before it stops being a pretence. He suspects it always will be. He’s never met Rory, but he wouldn’t mind betting that Douglas had been exaggerating his own transformation somewhat. Surely it couldn’t all be practiced. Some of Douglas’s magic _must_ be inborn. 

Channelling his old first officer does not always go as smoothly as Martin would like, and there are a few truly awful backfires where he realises, too late, that he simply can’t pull off the act, and ends up reduced to the same spluttering and stammering that had seen him through most of his time at MJN. 

But, just sometimes, something goes spectacularly right, just the way he hoped it would, and he is able to sit back, smirk, and bask in the glory of a perfectly executed Douglas Richardson Moment.


	12. Limerick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually for the Fandot Creativity Night prompt 'egg hunt', but.... I'm seeing how many I can double up on because I am nothing if not lazy.

 

 

The goose who once ate Martin’s ring  
Did more than just that awful thing -   
She climbed in and sat  
In his much-beloved hat  
And settled down, feather and wing.

While Martin, in vain, searched around  
(His hat simply could not be found)  
She waited, until  
With a paramount skill  
She laid an egg – not on the ground,

But somewhere more comfy and gold,  
(The best hat the dress-up shop sold)   
And when, later on  
He found where it had gone  
Martin yelped with a horror untold. 

“So, Skip,” his young steward then said,  
“While you looked for some gear for your head,  
What you thought was a quest  
For the hat you like best   
All this time, was an egg hunt, instead!”

 

 


	13. Carolyn Knapp-Shappey Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more traditional version of a moment where it actually involves the person named. I know, radical. 
> 
> For the Fandot Creativity prompt "One Last Time".

 

Arthur is already waiting for her in the car. This, she knows for two reasons: 1) the house is blissfully, if slightly eerily quiet, and 2) every ten or so seconds, he sounds the horn, long and loud. Her take-off-delay-loving son is not an impatient man, but when agitated for some reason, he can exhibit some of the same symptoms. Carolyn only hopes the neighbours don’t complain. 

She paces. She doesn’t quite know why she is stalling - it’s definitely not indecision, or second thoughts or anything like that. Perhaps it’s just the fact that leaving the house and getting in the car and Arthur driving off is going to… change everything. 

Carolyn is not afraid of change. She’s all for it, in fact. She doesn’t hesitate to take leaps, or cut ties when they are no longer useful to her. But this particular leap, the one she has gone back and forth on so many, many times, this leap, that feels like the largest so far and yet the most natural thing in the world, this leap, such a turning point after all this time…

It just ought to feel a little more _momentous_ than just stepping out of her front door.

She checks her reflection in the hallway mirror. She gives herself a stern look. “Get _on_ with it, you old fool,” she says, and feels instantly more inclined to do so.

One last time, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey steps out of her house. 

(At a happier, later hour, Carolyn Shipwright returns.) 

 


	14. (Jump)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fandot Creativity Night fill, not for MJN March, but it's just going to sneak in here because I didn't want it to feel left out.

 

A young woman sporting an Alice band and a worried expression meets them when they arrive, though Martin can tell she’s really only expecting Carolyn. “Hello,” she says, slightly awkwardly, flicking her gaze between the two pilots. “You must be Douglas, and…Skip?”

Martin does one of his nervous half-laughs. Later, it will occur to him that he ought to have corrected her, that now she’ll think his name actually is Skip forevermore, and he’ll always be too embarrassed to explain. In the moment, he can’t think of anything that’s not Arthur. 

“Where is he?” Carolyn asks, impatient. Her voice is more waspish in tone than usual, which is no mean feat. Martin’s glad he’s not on the receiving end, notices how Tiffy won’t meet Carolyn’s eye when she says, “Through here.”

They follow her through the heavy double doors and past a few curtained-off cubicles, until finally they reach the one that contains Arthur. For a second, Martin feels his own face drain of colour. There are certainly a lot of bandages. 

Arthur makes up for it, though, with his impossibly wide smile. “Hello, chaps! Chaps and Mum. Chaps and Mum and Tiffy. Hello!”

“Hello,” comes back the slightly more dubious chorus.

“How are you feeling?” Carolyn asks, in a tone that says ‘matter-of-fact’ but with a face that says ‘worried’.

“Great!” Arthur replies. “These painkillers are really good. They just – took all the pain completely away.”

“Almost as though they’d _killed_ it, would you say?” Douglas remarks.

“And it’s only two of my ribs! It felt like it was about sixty of them, but the doctor said I’ve only got twenty-four, he checked. And most of them are fine.” 

“And the arm?” Carolyn asks. 

“Not broken. Just couple of fractures,” Tiffy supplies. 

“Oh, that’s _lucky_ ,” says Douglas, somewhat darkly. 

“Douglas,” Carolyn says, in a warning tone. “Not here.”

“It wasn’t Tiffy’s fault!” Arthur pipes up. “I really thought I _could_ ride a horse! I’ve done it on the beach, loads of times!”

“Those were donkeys,” Carolyn says, “Very old, very placid donkeys. And they’re trained to go as slowly as possible. And you were _six_.” 

“I thought it might just come back to me. You know, like with riding a bike.”

“Yes, you see,” says Douglas, “A horse is not quite the same thing.”

“And even if you could ride a horse, which to be absolutely clear, you can’t,” Carolyn continues, “You definitely shouldn’t have tried the jump.”

“He shouldn’t have even had the option,” Douglas counters.

Tiffy looks at her shoes. Her riding boots, to be precise. 

Martin shifts awkwardly in the silence, then produces a pen from his pocket. “Well, then. Can I be the first to sign your cast?”

Arthur is only too pleased to let him.

 


	15. (Blue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another FCN impostor. Skipthur ahoy!

 

“But why does ‘blue’ mean sad?” Arthur asks, lying on his back, half on and half off the picnic blanket. His face is crinkled slightly round his eyes as he stares up at the sunny, cloudless sky. “Blue is such a happy colour. Look at that! It’s so cheerful.”

Martin smiles down at him. “I’m not sure, either. Bit unfair, really.”

“If it was grey I would totally get it,” Arthur continues. “Because at least grey’s a bit boring and tired-looking. But blue is a brilliant colour.” 

“Maybe it’s to do with it being a cool colour,” Martin says, shifting himself so he’s lying down parallel to Arthur, staring up at the same expanse of blue. There aren’t even any aeroplane trails cutting across it – just perfect, untouched sky, in every direction. There is something calming in that. There’s nothing to say that anything else exists except the two of them and the blue. Nobody is going anywhere.  

“But _why_ is it cool?” Arthur wonders. “We had Bunsen burners at school that did a blue flame, and they were really hot.” 

“That’s true.” 

Martin has a feeling that some days, in other places, he can understand why blue means blue, why it means hanging your head and feeling gloomy. But with Arthur around, he can’t conceive of it at all.

 


	16. Flight Deck Buckaroo

 

 **Flight Deck Buckaroo**   
(or _What Series 4 Taught Us To Live Without_ )

 

You can fly without an awful lot of things -  
As long as you’ve an engine and some wings.

In Timbuktu, we learn a sixteen seater  
Can level up without an altimeter.

Uskerty says we don’t need sweet tradition   
Break free - give gifts that show your true position. 

You can live without a lot of extra stuff –  
The core essentials, minus all the fluff.

Vaduz points out that, in this modern scene  
A business doesn’t need a fax machine. 

In Wokingham we learn we don’t need length  
To give our words their meaning or their strength.

With effort, you’ll get by with not that much  
You don’t need all this trinketry and such.

In Xinzhou, we find out that getting sleep  
Needs Fizz-Buzz, not a herd of counted sheep. 

In Yverdon, we learn to live without  
A tray of cheese, so long as fruit’s about. 

Yes, all through series 4, I fear it’s true  
It’s one long game of Flight Deck Buckaroo.

The hardest lesson, though, was saved ’til last,  
And it’s not one we’re getting over fast -

For Zurich told us this: that in the end,  
You might just fly without your firmest friend.  


	17. Things No Manual's Ever Thought Of

 

Martin hailed the cab that would take him from Swiss Airways HQ back to Geneva airport, though Oskar’s words were still ringing in his ears. _You can start in June._ It was…more than he had hoped, he realised now. All this time, through the waiting and the build-up and the letter that took so long to arrive, at no point during all of that had he actually, solidly believed that a day like this would ever come.

Which was a pity, because perhaps if he had imagined what it would be like, he would have imagined how he would feel, too. He would know what he was supposed to feel now, hunched up in the back of a taxicab, racing across Switzerland to catch a plane back to the people whose lives he was about to pull the plug on. The woman whose business he was about to sink and the colleague whose job he was about to ruin and Arthur, Arthur who would try to be _happy_ about it, but whose life Martin was about to change irrevocably. 

He couldn’t see a way this would end happily, if he told them the truth.

 _Not all good endings are happy. Sometimes it’s enough to end well_ , Douglas had told him once, during a game of Film Title Dominoes that had spiralled into a discussion of classics and favourites. That sort of thing had started happening more and more, the longer they knew each other – games stumbled into discussions, discussions into talking, and somewhere, without either of them noticing, they’d each found themselves enjoying the other’s company. _No,_ Martin had said, _but the happy ones are always more satisfying_. Arthur had backed him up on that one, naturally. 

This, too, was a staple he would miss. 

The taxi turned a corner suddenly, and after the jolt Martin settled back into his seat and turned to stare out of the window, watching the trilingual signposts whizz past. He would have to get a book on French, he supposed. German, too, at some point, though Theresa would be a great help with that. _Theresa._ Martin got his phone out of his pocket, and sent her a text. 

_I’ve got the job! I start in June. Can’t wait to see you xxx_

It was all true except the exclamation mark. For the moment, Martin didn’t feel much like exclaiming it. Mixed up as it was in his brain, it was more something to be mumbled, passed around in hushed tones, because incredible as it was, it was going to wreak a version of havoc that not even Douglas could magic away. Not that they’d miss him half as much as – well, not that they would miss him very much, Martin was sure. But in economic terms, the hole he would leave behind would be too unique a shape for anyone else to fill – too cheap, too _free_. 

What would they all _do_?

What would _he_ do, come to that? Painful as it was to think of the Flap  & Throttle era, Martin was under no delusions that he was a fitter-in, somebody who slotted well into just any workplace environment. But with Douglas and Arthur – even Carolyn, more recently – he’d found that slot, found that particular way of existing among these people that was no longer an effort, it was easier than breathing, it was jokes and bets and teasing, and arguments, advice and adulation. It was _trust_. Trust that he knew them, trust that they knew him, trust that together, something could always be worked out. They’d not been backed into any corners yet which couldn’t be escaped from. There was always a trap door, a secret passageway – and where there wasn’t, Douglas carved one, with Martin to mark the corners and Carolyn to keep watch and Arthur to cheer them all on. They each knew their function. In many ways, they were a machine more reliable than the one they flew. 

Once, he’d decried them as worse even than the manuals’ examples of crews behaving badly – and it was _true_ \- they broke rules, they cut corners, they cruised along as close as possible to the Line without ever technically crossing it. But at the same time, they’d…shared more with him than any of that could tarnish. Douglas and Arthur had driven two hundred miles in his van to collect a _piano_ , and neither of them – not _Douglas_ , even – had ever called in a favour big enough to match it. Carolyn had point blank _told_ Martin to apply for Swiss Airways, despite what it would do to her, to MJN, to everything she’d worked to build since leaving her old life behind. All three of them had banded together to deal with Martin’s family – just as they had all done with Gordon, really, and just as they had all done on a minor scale so many times – whenever it had come down to _us_ or _them_ , MJN had closed ranks and left no doubt as to what the answer was. _Us_. Often divided within their own portacabin - never against the outside world.

They cheated and they taunted and they battled each other, but at the same time, they confided, co-conspired, joined forces and won.

They never behaved like the crews in the manuals.

Martin’s own words, all that time ago, facing down Nancy Dean Liebhart with a fire in his belly and a lemon on his hat. He’d been more right than he realised. _They do things no manual’s ever thought of._

No protocol could explain them, no procedure list could tie them down. There wasn’t a manual in the world that could do them justice. Nor would there ever be. 

 


	18. Cabin Address

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The challenge was to create a cabin address in the style of one of Douglas's games...in rhyme, or with song titles, etc. I wasn't feeling particularly inspired until I was listening to a CD of Just a Minute episodes in the car... and thus, this was born. 
> 
> (If you've never heard it, it's a game show on which the contestants have to speak for one minute on a given subject without hesitation, repetition or deviation from the topic. It's much more fun than that sounds - usually the panelists are comedians. We need to find some way of getting the Finnemore on there, he'd be terrific at it! Or terrifically funny, in any case.)

**DOUGLAS:** All right. Your minute starts…now.

**_BING-BONG_ **

**MARTIN:** Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Captain Crieff, and I have the pleasure of welcoming you aboard this MJN Air flight to Baden Baden.

**_BING-BONG_ **

**DOUGLAS:** Aha! Repetition! ‘Baden Baden’.

 **MARTIN:** What? But that’s–! That’s the actual _name_! I can’t not say the actual name!

 **DOUGLAS:** Carolyn, verdict?

 **CAROLYN:** _(calling from further away)_ Correct challenge! One point to Douglas, and 51 seconds to go.

 **MARTIN:** That’s not fair, you _purposely_ waited for a destination like this before suggesting the game!

 **DOUGLAS:** And you walked right into my trap.

**_BING-BONG_ **

**DOUGLAS:** And my name is Douglas Richardson, your first officer. We’ll be flying in a northward direction at a height of–

**_BING-BONG_ **

**MARTIN:** Deviation! We’re _not_ flying due north, we’re flying north by north west, we’d _never_ end up in Baden Baden if–

 **DOUGLAS:** I think you’ll find north by north west is still a _northward_ direction. I didn’t _say_ due north. I just cleverly side-stepped around saying “north” twice, just as you could have done with your second Baden.

 **MARTIN:** Well, it’s very unprofessional not to give the exact direction.

 **DOUGLAS:** Yes, how remiss of me. Our passengers, safe in their _boxes_ in the _hold_ , must be incensed at my lack of decorum. Well, what does our capable host think?

 **CAROLYN:** I’ll give it to him.

 **DOUGLAS:** What?!

 **CAROLYN:** It’s just so nice to hear someone tell you you’re wrong. One point. And 42 seconds, Martin.

**_BING-BONG_ **

**MARTIN:** This is your captain speaking again. I’m–

 **ARTHUR:** Ooh! Am I allowed to challenge?

 **CAROLYN:** Oh, go on then.

 **ARTHUR:** Repetition. He said 'captain’ before, in his last bit.

 **DOUGLAS:** Oh, that’s right! Well done, Arthur, I’d forgotten about that rule.

 **MARTIN:** Ohh, _Ar-thur!_

 **ARTHUR:** Sorry, Skip. I was just so excited to get one before Douglas!

 **DOUGLAS:** How is it that you’re so familiar with Just A Minute, anyway, Arthur? I would have thought it was a bit high-brow for you.

 **ARTHUR:** What’s high-brow?

 **DOUGLAS:** Boring.

 **ARTHUR:** Oh. No, I love Radio 4!

 **CAROLYN:** He really does. Loudly.

 **ARTHUR:** I love the one that goes DUM DE-DUM DE-DUM DE-DUM, DUM DE-DUM DE DAAAA-DA!

 **DOUGLAS:** Is that…. The Archers?

 **ARTHUR:** Yeah! That’s it. I can’t _really_ tell them all apart but it’s brilliant. There was one where one of the tired men was going to move a cardboard box–

 **CAROLYN:** He also can’t distinguish parody from the real episodes. Right, off you go, Arthur, 40 seconds.

**_BING-BONG_ **

**ARTHUR:** Hello! My name’s Arthur Shappey, and I’m your steward today. You can tell it’s me because of my hat. Wow, I don’t usually get to do proper cabin addresses, this is brilliant! Let’s see, what do they usually say…

**_BING-BONG_ **

**DOUGLAS:** Hesitation.

 **ARTHUR:** Oh, yeah. It’s harder than it sounds, isn’t it!

 **DOUGLAS:** You were doing quite well up 'til then, though.

 **CAROLYN:** Yes, well done, Arthur. OK, 29 seconds for Douglas….

**_BING-BONG_ **

**DOUGLAS:** On behalf of your cabin crew and the two trained pilots - that’s myself and my esteemed colleague, whose voice you’ve heard previously - I should very much like to express my most fervent wish that the journey you’ve chosen to spend with us today is not only enjoyable, peaceful, relaxing and smooth, but also a good reason upon which to base your decision to travel with us many more times in the future, whether that be for a holiday, a business trip, a romantic getaway or excursion of some other description.

_(sound of Carolyn blowing an emergency whistle)_

**CAROLYN:** Time’s up! And it was Douglas talking as the whistle blew, meaning one more point for him.

 **ARTHUR:** Wow, Douglas! You’re _just_ like Paul Merton!

 **DOUGLAS:** I beg to differ. Paul Merton is just like _me_.

 **CAROLYN:** It _was_ quite impressive, I must say.

 **MARTIN:** Of course _you’d_ win a game where the aim is to listen to the sound of your own voice.

 **DOUGLAS:** A welcome bonus. You’re forgetting that I can win _any_ game.

 **CAROLYN:** All right, the scores. We’ve got Martin and Arthur tying for second place, with one point each–

 **ARTHUR:** Hooray!

 **CAROLYN:** And, to no-one’s surprise - least of all his own - Douglas up in front with three points, making him today’s winner.

 **ARTHUR:** Next time, you should join in, Mum! I can be Nicholas Parsons. _(puts on a warbling, “old man” voice)_ You can have another point, Paul, because we enjoyed your interruption.

 **DOUGLAS:** …Well, the impersonation might need work, but it’s not a bad idea, Carolyn. Shall we start another round?

 **CAROLYN:** Certainly.

**_BING-BONG_ **


	19. Phonetic Alphabet

 

There’s a version of the letters  
Which nobody else knows better  
Than a dedicated Cabin Pressure fan.

They might not quite remember   
Yankee, Charlie or November  
But if you ask the other list, they can.

It’s twenty-six locations  
Spread through many different nations   
And beginning with each letter that there is.

So if you have to write down  
Names for Z or X or Y-towns  
Then they might be useful teammates in the quiz.

 


	20. Toblerone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acrostic time!

 

 **T** here’s a certain chocolate prism  
 **O** ne that’s viewed with optimism   
**B** y everyone who’s heard a certain show.   
**L** et others take their filling   
**E** ating toffee, if they’re willing -  
 **R** eal fans of Arthur S. are in the know.   
**O** f all the sweets existing   
**N** one takes quite as much resisting -   
**E** ach Toblerone makes satisfaction grow.

 


	21. Miles Away, Quite Quickly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote prompt was 'Yes, luckily enough though, we're in an aeroplane...specially designed to be good at going miles away, quite quickly' 
> 
> And somehow I fell into a whirlpool of post-Zurich emotions...

 

“I’ll see you soon.”

He doesn’t know _how_ soon, exactly, and judging by Arthur’s expression it won’t be soon enough. Martin sighs. “We had a good run, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.” Arthur’s voice is pretty quiet, considering his usual exuberance. He repeats, slightly louder, “Yeah. It was brilliant.”

“And we’re going to keep in touch. Text, email. Skype, as well, if I can remember my password.”

“And we’ve got a plane,” Arthur adds, hopefully.

Martin nods. He smiles, sadly, and repeats words he’d said in jest, years ago. “Especially designed to be good at going miles away…”

“Quite quickly,” Arthur finishes softly, and tries a smile back. Failing, he throws his arms around Martin and gives him the bear hug of his life - he half expects to hear bones snapping, but instead it’s Arthur’s voice, “I’m going to miss you.” There is a pause. “Skip.”

Douglas’s name, soon. But Martin’s still for these last few minutes, and he has to swallow down a lump in his throat on hearing it. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

“D'you think your new steward will be…”

“No.” Martin cuts him off, as Arthur lets him go. Face to face again. “Not half as brilliant as you.”

Arthur grins at that, despite himself, but says, “That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Oh? What, then?”

“Nice. Do you think they’ll be nice, all the people there?”

Martin gives a little shrug. “Probably. I’ll get used to them, anyway.”

“And they’ll get used to _you_.” Arthur’s turn to repeat his own words. They are both trying to make this conversation into a tribute, Martin realises. A tribute to an era which has hit the runway now, and is slowing to a stop.

“Oh, _Skip_. I didn’t mean it! You’re fine, they won’t need to get used to you. I was just trying to be funny.”

For a second Martin’s confused about Arthur’s outburst of frantic apology, but then he realises that his face is actually damp. He swipes his sleeve across his face and sniffs, blinks. “Oh, it – no. It wasn’t about that. Just…” He waves his hand around vaguely.

Arthur gives a tiny, knowing smile. “Nobody’s allowed to smoke in the airport. You can’t use that.”

And Martin laughs, louder than he means too, longer than the joke deserves, because if this is the last time he will hear Arthur trying to make him laugh for however long a time, he’s making the most of it. Quickly, though, it’s barely laughter, just intakes of breath, no mirth left, and they’re hugging again and Martin’s saying, “What am I gonna do without you, Arthur?”

He’d asked Douglas a similar question in their farewells a few minutes ago, but that had been accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, all the real words silent in the air between them. _You’ll get by,_ Douglas had replied, lips curled in a grin. _Though I am irreplaceable, I know. Sorry about that._

Martin is sorry too.

“I’ll text as soon as I arrive,” he tells Arthur, when they separate a second time.

“And you’ll send a picture?”

“Oh, _loads_ of pictures. Don’t you worry.”

Silence for a few moments. Then Arthur holds out his hand, and Martin takes it. _All these years,_ he thinks, _and it ends with a handshake._

“Goodbye, Skip,” Arthur says, “…Martin.”

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

All these years, and it ends at _all_ , that’s what seems so wrong.

 


	22. Evil-Sounding Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just realised I never finished cross-posting all of these, so please excuse the sudden resurrection...

“Aaaaarthuurrr….Sssshappeyyyyyy…”

“Are you quite all right, Arthur?”

“What? Oh—hello, Douglas. Yeah, I’m just trying something out.”

“It sounded like you were trying to summon whichever demon it is who’s unfortunate enough to share your name.”

“No! …Do you think there is one?”

“Probably not. I don’t know that they go in for surnames, as such.”

“Oh, right.”

“So what _were_ you doing?”

“I was just seeing if my name works. For the game you three were playing earlier.”

“Oh, ‘People Who Aren’t Evil But Have Evil-Sounding Names?’”

“That’s it! What do you think?”

“Let’s have a go. _Beware, ye who enter, for I am the fearsome tyrant Arthur Shappey…._ No, I don’t think it fits.”

“That was a really good voice, though.”

“One of my best.”

“So my name isn’t evil?”

“No. Perhaps if it didn’t belong to _you_ …”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve always thought it was quite appropriate. Matches your demeanour.”

“My what?”

“Demeanour. The way you…are.”

“Oh, right. …How does it match?”

“Listen. Arthur Shappey. Arthurshappey. Arthurssss…shappey. Arthur’s happy. And you _are_. Constantly.”

“Wow!”

“So you see, with connotations like that, it was never going to pull off the evil thing.”

“That’s amazing! Do you think Mum and Dad knew, and that’s why they called me that?”

“…”

“Douglas?”

“…I’m going to leave you to ponder the workings of English naming customs by yourself.”


End file.
